It's Always The Quiet Ones
by rayyvn
Summary: When Dean is finally confronted about his oddly submissive nature in the bedroom department, he decides to do a bit of research. Research that leads him to a different kind of club where he's shocked to find his usually quiet and reserved co-worker, Castiel, in a position Dean definitely didn't expect. And what a position... (Bonus Sam/Gabe in later chapters)
1. Chapter 1

"That's it! I'm done."

Dean looked up in confusion, pausing just as he was about to pull off his last article of clothing. "What? We just started. I know I'm good, but I'm not _that_ good."

Cassie was already sitting on the edge of the bed, buttoning her jeans and looking around Dean's bedroom floor for her shirt. She twisted to look down at him, laying on the bed with his thumbs still hooked under the elastic of his boxers. Dean forced his look of confusion to change to a smirk at his own comment, and hoped it came across as natural. When in doubt, put up that cocky mask he was oh-so-good at faking.

Cassie rolled her deep brown eyes, apparently not surprised by his somewhat-conceited joke. "Look, Dean. You're a great guy and everything, but I don't think we're a good...fit." She rose off the bed to continue looking for her shirt, her fingers nervously twisting into the tight black curls of her hair.

"Wait, what? Good fit? We've been dating for two months, I thought we've been fitting just fine!" Dean sat up and grabbed at his jeans, bunched at the foot of the bed. He could feel the self-assured mask start to slip, and he was not having this conversation in his underwear. He could see where this was headed, had heard too many lines too similar to that one. No, he definitely needed pants for this.

Cassie spotted her shirt under the far corner of the bed and went for it, muttering, "Yeah, it's been _fine_, but I'm looking for _great_." She turned around to see a pained expression on Dean's face, green-flecked eyes back to confused, full lips now thinned into a slight frown. She sighed. "I'm just not feeling it, Dean, and I think it's only fair to if I'm honest about that now and save us both some time."

Yep, this is exactly where Dean thought this conversation was going. Well, if Cassie didn't want to waste any more time on this, then neither did he. "Fine. Great. Well, thanks for the time-saving, I guess." He hastily shoved his bowed legs into his jeans, and stood just outside his open bedroom door as Cassie finished dressing. She saw the obvious invitation to leave, gave him a quick glance, and started down the hallway.

As Dean followed her to the door of his small two-bedroom apartment he was going over the events of the night, trying to figure out what went wrong. Everything seemed to be going fine; they had a nice dinner out – sure it was at a diner, but it was a _nice_ diner – came back to his place, watched a stupid romcom movie on the couch, got to the bedroom, things started taking their usual route...

Cassie opened the door and paused. Dean realized he was just standing there, staring off into space while she was obviously waiting for him to say something. Dean made himself look her in the eye, blinked to clear the slight mistiness affecting his vision and tightened his jaw, but couldn't think of the right words to say. He knew that the perfect comment for this situation would come to him later that night. As usual.

Cassie sighed yet again. "I'm sorry, Dean. I know you'll find someone someday who'll be more...your style."

Dean blinked at that. His style? What's that supposed to mean? What's wrong with his style? Cassie kissed him quickly on the cheek, and before he could voice his questions, she was gone.

Dean stood in his doorway, his mind still frantically running over the last few hours of the night. He was running his hands through his short, brown hair when a quiet cough shook him from his thoughts. "Oh. Hey Lisa. So, any chance on us pretending you didn't hear all that?"

Lisa was leaning against the open door of the apartment across the hall. She was not only Dean's neighbour, but his best friend as well. Dean knew he was in for some teasing over what just happened in this very public apartment hallway, but he wasn't really dreading it. Lisa would probably invite him in for a beer, get in a few good insults about Dean's abilities – or lack thereof- to hold onto a girl for longer than a few months, and then not mention the whole event again. Better than Sammy seeing what just happened; Dean was not in the mood for a pitying look, a stiff hug, and a not-so-gentle push to 'talk about his feelings.' Basically, his brother was a girl.

Instead of the smirk and amused eyebrow-raise he was expecting from Lisa, she closed her eyes and gave him a heavy sigh.

"Dude, what is with everyone sighing at me tonight?" Dean was going to develop a complex if this theme kept up.

"Just get in here." Lisa turned and walked further into her apartment, leaving the door open for Dean to follow. He decided to give his own deep sigh and trailed behind Lisa as the brunette led him into her kitchen. She thankfully went straight to the rather impressive beer stash taking up the lower third of her fridge, passing him a bottle before taking her own.

"Again, Dean? This is what, the third girl this year? I know you keep saying you're looking for something that'll last, but it sure doesn't seem that way." Lisa sounded frustrated, which was a bit unfair seeing as how Dean was the one just broken up with. In the hallway. In front of his best friend. Again.

He's gotta stop putting on a show for his very nosy neighbour.

"Hey, three girls a year ain't that bad." Dean put some effort into the grin as he looked up into Lisa's light brown eyes, which seemed to look back at him in disbelief. It's not like he was taking home one-night stands or anything, he really was trying to find something that would work out, it just...hadn't happened yet.

"It's only May, Dean. I'm sure it'll be more than three by the time a year has actually passed."

Well, that was a depressing thought. Lisa was right; for someone looking for something long-term, Dean was certainly moving through the "Available Women of Boston" list pretty damn fast.

Dean looked down at his bottle to see the label was already half-peeled off. He didn't remember trying to do that. "You think maybe I should just give up for a while? Take a break from dating, try enjoying the bachelor life?" Dean couldn't meet Lisa's gaze. Did his best friend think he was a lost cause? 'Cause he was definitely starting to.

Lisa sighed. Seriously, again? "No, that's not what...look. This is gonna be the one and only time we're talking about this. You know I have the same opinions on heart-to-hearts that you do – "

"That if we go about having them we may as well break out the nail polish and start in on the manicures."

Lisa continued through Dean's interruption, as she was used to doing, "But I think it's about damn time you realized something about yourself, something that's pretty freaking obvious to anyone who's spent any...intimate time with you."

Dean's eyes widened in surprise, and maybe a bit of panic. "Dude, no. We had a pact, we are NOT talking about this." Lisa couldn't seriously be bringing that up. They had made it over a year without discussing that night of drunken, clumsy sex and awkward morning-after silence. When they ran into each other in the hall later that day there was an automatic, unspoken agreement to never mention what had happened the night before, and Dean was more than ok with that.

"Shut up, Dean. WE are not talking about this. I am going to talk AT you for a minute, then you're going to leave and then we won't mention this again. And maybe we'll just avoid each other for a couple days." Lisa took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, letting it out in a huff. Dean could tell she was serious, and that he wasn't getting out of this. 'Cause another awkward morning-after was just what he needed with this woman. Perfect.

Lisa started talking at Dean, the words coming faster and faster as she tried to rush through what she had to say. "Ok, I know that you probably think there was so much weirdness the morning after we...you know...because we're friends and friends shouldn't do that and we shouldn't have done that but it happened and I really do wanna forget about it and we will forget about it after I finish saying this but I think you should know that Iwasactingsoweirdbecauseyouwerejustreallybadinbeda ndIdidn'tknowwhattosayso...awkward."

Dean had to take a second with that one. He wasn't entirely sure he heard her right, especially considering the speed of that last part, and was there even a period in that whole word vomit? He really had to consider the appropriate response here, put some thought into it.

"Umm...What?" Great. What an insightful question.

Dean had no idea what kind of expression could be on his face for Lisa to give him such a pitying and embarrassed look. "Well...that's why. With the avoidance and lack of talking about what happened that night. Look, Dean, you know I friend-love you, and I wouldn't bring this up if I didn't think it might help, so yeah. You're not so great at the bedroom activities. You just kinda...lie there, and like, wait for instructions or something. Most women like a bit of, I dunno, aggression or dominance or whatever in their men, but you were just so...passive."

Dean was still trying to wrap his head around the whole idea. He was bad in bed? He never got any complaints before. Sure, sometimes things started out kinda slow, but he just liked to make sure his partners were comfortable in whatever they were doing. He hated to be the first one to make a move, he preferred the woman to take the lead and show him what exactly they wanted between the sheets. He didn't know he came across as 'passive', like he wasn't involved enough.

"I don't really know what to say, Lis. I just...you mean...was I that bad?" Dean wasn't entirely sure he wanted to ask the question, but this might be his one shot of getting an honest review out of someone. And at least he could trust Lisa to tell him the truth, as brutal as it might be.

Lisa seemed to gather her thoughts before answering. "It wasn't like it was horrible, it just wasn't...my kinda style." Both she and Dean cringed at the echo of Cassie's earlier sentiment. "It's just not that usual for a man to be so...submissive."

Submissive. Huh. "Well, maybe that's just _my _kinda style." Dean was getting a little fed up with the conversation. He could hear the tension in his voice ratchet up a few notches as he kept talking. "What's so wrong with letting the woman take the lead on things? Why would it be so bad if I'm told what to do? Maybe I just like someone having that kind of control over me."

Dean stopped his little rant abruptly. Well, that was a weird thing to say. He wanted someone to take control over him? Who wants that?

Lisa just looked on, silently watching the emotions play over Dean's face as his thought process worked itself out. "Well. Ok then. Good talk." Lisa put her now empty bottle by the sink, and moved towards the kitchen archway. "I'm just gonna call it a night then. You can just, let yourself out, lock up for me. And yeah, let's not talk about this again. Ever." She turned quickly and walked down the hallway to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Guess that was the end of that conversation. Not that Dean really wanted to keep going after that little revelation.

Dean put his half-empty bottle beside hers on the counter and left, locking the door behind him. Trying not to think too hard, he went back to his apartment and immediately stripped out of his jeans and got into bed, wearing only his boxers for the second time that night. He forced his mind to go blank and after a few hours of fighting with his stupidly active brain, he drifted into a fitful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean's alarm went off way too early the next morning. How much sleep had he gotten, three, four hours maybe? Not enough to be able to function properly at seven a.m. Dean dragged himself out of bed and blindly stumbled towards the kitchen, where the smell of coffee was calling to him. Thank God for automatic coffee makers.

It was during his second serving that last night's conversation came back to him. Dean paused mid-sip, which apparently wasn't the best coffee-drinking technique as the scalding hot liquid flowed over the edge of the mug, burning his chin, neck and bare chest along the way.

"Fuck!" Dean jerked back from the cup, which only caused more of his precious coffee to spill to the floor. This time over his hand. "Fuck, fuck!" Dean was nothing if not eloquent in the morning. He sighed and grabbed the dish towel to clean up the mess. Well, at least he was fully awake now.

Dean decided to put last night's events to the back of his mind, at least until he figured out what to do with this new information. What could he do? Apparently he wasn't what women were looking for in a sexual partner. He was...what was it? Passive. Submissive. Great, those are definitely words people want used to describe themselves.

No. Not thinking about this.

Dean got through the rest of his morning routine without any other major mishaps. Maybe he stubbed a toe against his bathroom doorframe while thinking the line 'not usual for a man', and maybe he spent a little too long staring at the reflection of a half-buttoned dress shirt while thinking 'I just like someone having that kind of control over me', but no. He wasn't thinking about last night.

As Dean pulled his beautifully waxed and polished '67 Impala into his assigned parking spot at Kripke Advertising, he realized that he didn't actually remember the fifteen minute drive over. He stared blankly at the little plaque that marked his space: "Dean Winchester – Creative Director". So he might have been a little distracted, it didn't mean he was thinking about what happened in Lisa's kitchen. Or dwelling on it. Or obsessing over it.

"Fuck." Dean put his head to the steering wheel. He was not going to have a productive day, he could feel it already.

He stepped out of the car and pocketed the key, opening the backseat door to grab his briefcase. Moving a little too quickly as he shut the door, Dean didn't notice that his tie was now caught between the window and the roof of the car. He went to take a step away, but instead of heading toward the office building as he expected, Dean was yanked backwards, bouncing his head off of the glass and practically hanging himself by his own damned tie before he managed to get his feet steadied on the ground.

"Fuck." The word was squeaked out as Dean rushed to loosen the noose around his neck. Even Baby was against him today.

Dean scrambled for the door handle, eager to get free before anyone could see him trapped by his tie in his workplace's parking lot. Of course the door was locked.

But that was fine, Dean had the key in his pocket. Unfortunately he soon discovered that, while he could reach far enough to unlock the front door, he couldn't swing his arm around far enough to reach the lock on the back one. Dean gave the locked door his best death-glare, but nothing happened. He then tried one of his brother's patented bitch faces at the stubborn car, but again, nothing. Just as he was considering breaking a window as his method of last resort, he heard a low, gravelly rumble of a voice behind him.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean closed his eyes. Great. So, not only did he fail to get free before one of his co-workers found him in this compromising and completely embarrassing position, it had to be Castiel to see him first. Castiel, who was always calm and collected, who always seemed to have his shit together, who would never be caught dead with his tie in a door, car or otherwise.

Dean turned towards the voice (as much as his traitorous tie would allow) and put on his best, most confident grin. "Hey Castiel." Well, there was no getting around it. "Could I maybe get a hand here?"

Castiel looked at Dean, studying him really, and cocked his head to the side. His brow furrowed slightly over those stunningly blue eyes, and he coolly asked, "Why don't you simply take the tie off?"

Dean's entire world jerked to a halt. Take the tie off. Jesus. "Oh. Right, yeah. Obviously." He quickly undid his noose, letting it fall free and flap against the door as he reached around from the front and opened the backseat door. Feeling the blood rush to his cheeks, and knowing that his freckles would now be on full display, Dean swore again quietly. "Fuck."

Fumbling to put his tie back on, Dean looked up at Castiel, still standing there but now with a small smile on his slightly chapped lips, his black hair in his usual sexed-up style. Huh. Dean didn't think the guy could smile. They had been working pretty closely together since Castiel was hired by Kirpke Advertising two months ago as their new Lead Concept Artist, and this was the first time Dean saw anything more than a serious, almost solemn, look on his face. He should try to get Cas to smile more often, it suited him.

After a good thirty seconds of staring to each other's eyes, they were rudely interrupted with an "Umm...what are you doing?"

Dean blinked, and it felt like his eyes had been coated in a fine sand. Probably because he just spent half a minute staring unblinkingly at Castiel. Staring and thinking about stunning blue eyes and sexed-up hair and slightly chapped lips...Jesus, he really did not get enough sleep last night.

Both men turned towards the intruder, and Dean instantly snapped back to reality. "Heya Sammy. Just...you know, hanging out." Smooth.

Dean's younger brother had an odd look on his face, moving his hazel eyes between the two other men. "Uh, sure. In the parking lot at nine a.m. Okay. Well, I'm just gonna head inside, I'll see you for lunch?"

Sam and Dean met every day for lunch in the cafeteria. Dean, as Head of the Creative Department, and Sam, as Junior Legal Counsel, lucked out by both getting hired for the same company. Dean knew most people would think it was odd that he and his brother were still so close by the ages of twenty-eight and twenty-four, but this was the way it had always been with them; it was the Winchesters versus the World. The way it should be.

"Of course, see you at noon."

Castiel cleared his throat politely and said to the brothers, "It was good to see you, Sam. I'll see you for our ten o'clock, Dean." He started inside, probably heading straight to his office to get to work on the new major project they just landed. Dean figured the extra five minutes he spent outside was killing Castiel; he was always so damned punctual, never one to waste a minute of company time. Dean smirked at the thought, watching Cas walk away.

"Dean?" Sam was halfway to the building already, trying and failing to keep his floppy brown hair looking somewhat professional in the wind of the parking lot, and probably wondering why Dean hadn't yet taken a step forward.

"Yeah Sammy, I'm coming."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: From this point on, I have a beta! A huge thanks to the lovely deviant-outliar who is full of awesome ideas and suggestions! You can check out her tumblr here: .com!**

**Any remaining mistakes are my own!**

Dean tried to focus on the projects in front of him, he really did. There were actual, work-related things to think about today, he didn't have the time to let his mind wander. He didn't have time to think about happened with Cassie last night, what exactly she thought about his 'style'.

How Cassie always seemed to enjoy their bedroom activities but afterwards she often acted kind of impatient, almost frustrated with Dean, snapping at him to choose the damned movie, make up his own damned mind about their weekend plans. Dean just liked to let his girlfriend make the decisions, that way he knew they were doing whatever it was _she_ wanted to do. There's no harm in that, right? Dean's been that way with all of his girlfriends, letting them take the reins, leading the action, taking control...

Taking away Dean's control. Yeah, he liked the sound of that. Not being pestered to have the final say, to make the big decisions. Maybe not even the small decisions. Maybe having absolutely no choice, being told exactly what Dean needed to do, what was expected of him. Maybe even being held down a bit, not even given the option to move his body, only able to lay there and take whatever was coming to him...

And let's just cut off that whole line of thought. Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him? Who thinks that way?

Dean was known around the office as a confident guy (most would actually say arrogant), always sure of himself (better known as stubborn), able to turn on the charm with the ladies (read: a shameless flirt), and although he didn't really have many friends outside of the Agency (or none, at least none who weren't also family), Dean prided himself on being a strong, secure, manly-man type of guy.

While Dean was lost in his own head, the small clock on his desk read 9:59 and his intercom buzzed, jarring him from his thoughts.

"Yeah, Jo?" Jo Harvelle was stationed just outside his combination office/conference room. She was a great assistant, the kind everyone in the advertising firm wanted for their own: efficient, professional, and serious about her work. At least, that was the image she fought hard to project. Dean knew her too well to fall for that front as they were practically raised together, close enough to consider each other family.

"Dean, your ten o'clock with tall, dark and smouldering is heading your way."

Dean rolled his eyes. Professional. Right. "Thanks Jo, just send him in when he gets here." He looked at the clock again, just rolling over to 10:00. Always punctual, that Castiel. Dean didn't understand why everyone thought that was some great virtue or whatever.

Castiel walked through his open office door, and headed for his usual seat around the large oval table at the other end of Dean's semi-suite. "Hey, Castiel." Dean went over to join him, sitting in one of the eight chairs spaced evenly around the table.

"Hello, Dean." That voice again; it was always as if Cas had just finished yelling at some intern, or screaming out someone's name, or sucking off someone's...

And whoa. That's where that train of thought ends. What the hell was going on in Dean's apparently sex-obsessed mind today?

Dean realized he was staring again, and Castiel didn't go along for the ride this time. He was looking back at Dean but with one eyebrow slightly raised, as if waiting for the other man to say something. Say anything. Anything at all. Dean cleared his throat and looked away, finding something intensely interesting on the blank wall beside him. Because that would make the silence less awkward.

"We should get started, I think." Dean jumped slightly at Castiel's sudden comment.

"Yeah, of course!" Right, work, there was a reason for this meeting. He put on his best boss-man voice. "Okay, show me what you have for our potential new client."

Castiel proceeded to pull out several half-finished storyboards from the folder he had brought along. The new client they were trying to win over would be a huge boost to Kripke Advertising; it could mean expansion and a shot at the big leagues for the small ad firm. A budget airline that was just starting to go international, C&W Air wasn't a very well-known company just yet, but Dean knew that with his team's help the air service would take off to new heights.

God, Dean had better scrub his brain of that horrible pun before he went back to working out their options for commercial lines and slogans.

Looking over the storyboards Castiel had sketched out, Dean was feeling even better about their upcoming pitch to C&W that was scheduled for next month. Holy crap, only five weeks away. Dean took a small breath; his team was the best, they could get their mix of ideas for TV commercials, print media and social media together in time for the meeting. They could. They would, or Dean would have heads on spikes posted outside his office on week six.

Castiel was still describing his vision for the visuals of newest billboard pitch, his voice the usual calm, even rumble. Dean nodded every so often, but didn't pay too close attention. He knew Cas was great at his job, he trusted the man's viewpoint of what the print ads should look like. Dean was basically just there to choose the best of the options Castiel came up with to show to the client. Letting Cas' deep tones wash over his thoughts, calming his normally overactive brain, was just a bonus.

Cas really did have the best voice. The man should be a radio announcer or a phone sex operator or something. Yeah, Dean could see that. Pitching his voice even lower to talk quietly into the receiver, using his rich timbre to work up some lucky guy on the other end of the line. Dean wondered if that would get Cas going too, maybe he would give a soft growl into the phone when he got himself a bit too excited...Dean could practically feel the sound move across his ear...

Christ.

Dean fought to keep his breathing steady and his expression mildly interested and attentive. Those were not great thoughts to have about his co-worker. Not even okay thoughts. Maybe even slightly illegal thoughts.

Castiel was just winding down his presentation, which was Dean's cue that he should offer more than a nod. He swallowed dry and tried to stick to his boss-tone from earlier. "That all sounds great, Castiel. It looks like you have quite a few strong ideas for the visuals. It'll be a solid part of our pitch."

Castiel seemed pleased with Dean's comments, although with the lack of a smile it was kind of hard to tell. Maybe his eyes softened a bit? Is it possible to smile with just your eyes, because Dean thought that might be what he was seeing. Those blue eyes, smiling at him. Dean couldn't help the small smile that came to his own expression at the thought.

After a moment, Cas actually gave a small smile back. Success! Dean got Cas to actually give a smile. Dean's lips parted, he gave a full-fledged toothy grin and a bit of a laugh escaped, surprising both him and the other man.

"What is funny, Dean?" Oh, crap. Randomly laughing was kind of weird, right?

"Uh, nothing, just...you know."

"I know what, Dean?" Did the guy have to keep saying his name like that, at the end of every sentence? It was a bit distracting. If Dean didn't know better, he'd say Cas knew just how distracting that was.

"Just, you know, you smiling." And apparently Dean was going the honest route. Okay, he could work with this. He gestured vaguely toward Castiel's face. "I haven't seen you really smile before. It's nice. I mean, you have a nice smile. I mean, for someone who never smiles. I mean –" Oh God, shut up. Now.

Cas' smile grew a little wider at that. His nose even crinkled just a bit, and Dean thought that was just adorable. Wait, adorable? Really?

"Thank you, Dean. You have a nice smile, as well."

Dean could feel the blood rush to his cheeks. Time to show off the freckles again. Dammit. "Thanks, Cas."

Cas' smile turned to a look of confusion as he tilted his head, studying Dean for the second time today. "Cas?"

"Oh, shit! Sorry, it just kinda slipped out. And sorry for the 'Oh, shit'." Well, shit.

Cas' brow smoothed out again, and his lips curled up just at the edges in a faint smile. "No, it's okay. 'Cas'. I like it. You may call me that."

Dean breathed a quiet sigh of relief. At least he didn't piss the guy off just as he was finally starting to relax around him. Maybe he was starting to relax too much; Dean really needed to get his boss-mask back on. He sat up a little straighter and adopted his signature self-assured grin. "Awesome. Okay, well I think that'll do it for today." Dean really needed a minute to himself after this meeting. "I'll see you tomorrow, same time."

"Ten o'clock." Cas nodded to himself. "I'll see you then, Dean." He got up and made his way out of Dean's office, closing the door behind him. His gait was a hell of a lot more confident than Dean thought he could pull off at the moment. It almost looked a bit like a swagger.

Dean allowed himself another sigh of relief. He wasn't sure why he was so tense during their meeting, but somehow he felt like it had gone well. Whatever 'it' was. Yeah, he really needed a minute to clear his head. Or an hour.

Christ.


	4. Chapter 4

It was more like an hour and a half before Dean finally felt like he had a handle on the way his thoughts kept turning back to the many odd and uncomfortable conversations he's had since Cassie up and left the night before. Just as he was actually starting to get some work done, that damned intercom buzzer sounded again. He really needed to figure out how to turn the volume down on that thing.

"Dean, you gonna come out for lunch, or is your tie stuck in your desk drawer?" What was Sammy doing on the intercom? Jo was gonna have Sam's balls if she found out he was messing around at her desk.

Dean looked at the clock – 12:07. Crap, he already wasted seven minutes of his lunch hour, if 'working productively for the first time all day' could be considered a waste (Dean thought so; 12:00 to 1:00 was sacred food-time). "Hardy-de-har-har Sammy. Hang on, I'll be right out." Dean hurriedly shoved the papers into a semblance of an organized pile, then headed for the door.

"Com'on Gigantor, you're makin' us late for lunch."

Sam just rolled his eyes and followed Dean's quick pace down the hallway, heading for the stairs and passing several empty offices along the way. And one not-so-empty.

"Cas is working through lunch again? Man, that guy just never takes a break." Dean would never understand how a person could snub the Holy Lunch Hour like that.

"Cas?" Sam raised an eyebrow and gave Dean an all-too-knowing smirk. All-too-knowing of what, was something Dean was definitely not going to ask about.

"What? 'Castiel' is a mouthful."

Sam made a sound between a snort and a cough. He snoughed. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Dean gave him a sharp look in return. "Shut up, jerk."

"Bitch." Sam opened the door to the stairway, hand covering the little sign which read '5th floor' as he held it open for his older brother. "So, wanna grab lunch at the truck, or head down to that diner on the corner you're so obsessed with lately?"

Dean's stomach turned at the thought of eating anything from the food truck that was usually parked outside of their building around this time. "I'm not so much in the mood for E-coli today, Sammy. Let's do the diner."

Dean started down the steps, thinking (as he did every time he had to go up or down these stairs) that Kripke Advertising really needed to move to a newer building. Maybe one built after 1950. One with an elevator. And air conditioning. And toilets that didn't sound like they were about to make the pipes burst on every flush. Yeah, a building where the all six floors of office workers couldn't tell when you used the facilities would be great.

If they could land this new contract with C&W, then all of that might be possible. No pressure.

The brothers made their way to the old-fashioned Starlight Diner at the end of the block.

"'S good, a'n it, S'm?"

Sam replied with a disgusted expression. Which probably had something to do with the hunk of hamburger Dean was trying, and failing, to talk around. "God Dean, swallow first. Who raised you?"

Dean stopped chewing for a second and lifted an eyebrow; Sam got the unspoken comment of 'Seriously?' He gave a little half-shrug in apology to Dean, and went back to his spinach salad. Spinach salad. Yep, his brother was still a girl.

'Who raised you?' might be an innocent dig for most people, but for Sam and Dean Winchester it had a complicated answer. After the boys lost their mother in an unexplained house fire back when Dean was four and Sammy was still a baby, their father, John, was supposed to be the one to bring up his sons. But John never did get past the sudden death of Mary, and his alcohol-fuelled spiral intro depression led to neglect, then abuse (toward Dean, not Sammy – thank God, not Sammy), then finally to Uncle Bobby taking the 16-year-old Dean and 12-year-old Sam off his hands. Not that Bobby was their real uncle, he was only a family friend at first, but now both Dean and Sam considered Bobby to be more of a parental figure than John ever was.

Dean made a show of swallowing, producing an audible gulp that he hoped would annoy his brother. Judging from the small bitchface he got in return, he was successful. "This diner knows how to make a burger, I'll give them points for that. But time for the true test: pie." Dean looked way too excited over the idea of his favourite dessert.

Sam glanced at his watch. "I don't know, we've only got ten minutes left for lunch."

"Aw Sammy, you know there's always time for pie." Dean waved the waitress over; 'Missouri' going by the tag on her uniform.

"Hey, darlin'." Dean put on his most charming grin – he wanted that extra big slice of pie most waitresses would supply him with in exchange. "I was wondering if you might have any of that famous apple pie on the menu today."

Missouri seemed thoroughly un-charmed. "Why yes, we do happen to have a few slices left, honey. But I'd put that grin away if I were you, it's not gonna get you a bigger piece."

Dean's grin faded a little. Missouri was obviously not most waitresses. And could also apparently read minds. Sammy gave a small cough behind his fist and looked up at the woman with amusement and no small amount of respect. "We'll both have a slice, please." Dean nodded in agreement, not risking another word for the moment.

"Sure thing, sugar." She gave Sam a warm smile before turning a glare on Dean and walked back to the dessert display case.

Sam looked at Dean with a smirk, and shook his head. Dean was baffled. "What'd I do?"

"If you don't know, I'm not gonna explain it to you."

"Spoken like a true Samantha." Missouri brought over the pie and both boys gave her a smile in thanks before she moved off to help other customers.

Dean started into his pie with enthusiasm. "Jesus Dean, slow down. Can you even taste the pie, eating like that?"

Catching his brother's eye, Dean gave Sam a hard stare and slowly pushed another forkful into his already over-full mouth. He continued chewing widely, eyes unblinking, showing off the pulped apple and crust with every pass. Sam finally gave in, looking down in distaste. Dean won yet another round of gross-out-the-little-brother.

"That's mature. Tell me again, how did you get to be Head of your department?"

Swallowing, which took no small effort, Dean replied, "Talent, Sammy-boy. Pure talent."

"Uh huh. So...speaking of your department, how's Castiel making out? He's been there what, 6 weeks?"

"Closer to two months. Cas has been doing good work so far, I'm pretty impressed. We were lucky to get him for the salary we worked out, too. I think he moved to Boston all of a sudden, or something. Didn't have any jobs lined up before he came."

There was that damned knowing grin again. "'Cas'. You know, I heard Crowley call him something similar and your 'Cas' seemed kind of pissed off about it. Made it pretty clear that he only answered to 'Castiel'."

"He's not _my_ Cas! And he said he liked it when I called him that!" Dean's voice may have climbed a little higher than was strictly necessary. Besides, Dean thought he'd hate it if their douche-y Head of Marketing gave him a nickname, too. That guy creeped Dean out.

"Okay, okay. Defensive much? It's not like I was trying to imply anything. It's not like you were late today because you were mooning over him in the parking lot this morning, or like Jo told me you guys had a nice little chat about smiles during your ten o'clock. Or anything." If Sam was trying to hide that smug, pointed look on his face, he was doing a shit job.

"Dammit, Jo. I told her not to listen in on my meetings. That girl just sits there with a glass against my door most of the day. I should call up Ellen and tell her what a little eavesdropper her daughter is. You know, we haven't seen Ellen and Bobby for a while, we should head over to The Roadhouse for a visit, get a couple drinks, see if they're still tryin' to hide the fact that they've been together for, what is it, like ten years now? We could – "

"Dean, if you're gonna try to change the topic, you could at least do a better job of it. Now you're just talking about _other_ people's love lives, not really taking my mind off of what I was saying."

"We weren't talking about love lives, Sammy, we were –"

"Well, _you_ weren't, but I was. I can see the way you look at Castiel, Dean, the whole office can. You've had this little crush on him since he walked through your door and introduced himself by pointing out that you were twelve minutes late."

Dean looked at Sam, jaw slack and eyes wide. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. And wait, the whole office saw it? Not that there was anything to see. There was nothing to see. Dean was sure of it, his co-workers were just bored or hard-up or something, imagining things that just weren't there. Actually, that made sense in his brother's case. "Dude, you are so off the mark with this. I think your failure to get laid for the past who-knows-how-long is starting to affect your brain. Seriously, all the fluid is like, backing up and you're just seeing what your pickled brain wants to see. You're not actually surrounded by gay sex, Sammy, you just wish you were. You need to go find a club with a dark backroom this weekend, man"

Sam rolled his eyes. This was an old and well-used joke between them, but Dean didn't care. The fact that Sam was gay didn't bother him at all, and he figured that teasing his little brother about it every so often (or as much as possible without being the creepy older relative who makes too many sex-jokes), was a good way of reminding him that Dean didn't care where Sam put his dick, that he loved him no matter what. Even if he didn't come right out with the 'loved him' part. Only one brother was allowed to be the girl.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that. But seriously Dean, you know if you like this guy I'd be ok with it, right? You don't have to hide it or deny it or whatever."

"Jesus Sam, did you get us confused or something? You're the gay one, I'm the straight one. Same as always."

Sam let out what could only be described as an exasperated scoff-slash-huff. A sc-huff. "Michael."

Dean's blood ran cold, his heart stopped in his chest, his breath left his lungs. Basically, Dean died for half a second. He blinked then came back to life, consciously relaxed his shoulders, and forced up a smile. "Who's Michael?"

"Your high school boyfriend. The guy you were dating or fooling around with or whatever for five? six? months before I'm guessing Dad found out and I never saw him around again." Sam looked entirely too pleased with himself for this conversation.

Michael was not someone Dean spoke about. Or thought about. Or anything about. Sam was right, if not completely correct; Michael was Dean's first, and only, boyfriend, who he'd dated for seven months at the age of fifteen. They were both in their sophomore year; the best year of Dean's life up to that point. That is, until John came home early one night when Michael was visiting in Dean's bedroom. His Dad must have run out of money for whiskey a little sooner than usual, went upstairs to get what cash he could out of his oldest son (as was routine whenever he'd drink the last of his own), and caught the two boys in a compromising position, half-dressed under the sheets.

The last Dean saw of Michael was his boyfriend running down the stairs and out the front door, before his father turned back to his son to take out his rage. Dean learned that night what John thought of his son being a 'fag'. John wrote it into his flesh with his fists.

But Dean was not going be dragged back into those memories.

"We are _not_ talking about this," Dean hissed at his brother, furiously looking about the diner to see if anyone else could have heard Sam's pronouncement. Dean slammed his hands on the table as he stood, dug his wallet out of his back pocket and threw a twenty down for the check. "I'll see you back at the office." He marched out of the diner, ignoring the shocked look frozen on Sam's face.

"What the hell was that?"


End file.
